


Kisses Sweet As Apple Wine

by LeannieBananie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, Consensual Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeannieBananie/pseuds/LeannieBananie
Summary: "She recognized him though, his thick Starkhaven accent chasing shivers down her spine much like it had during their first meeting. Before she could act, a rough hand wrapped around her wrist, spinning her around and twisting the limb behind her back. He shoved her against the towering stack of crates, the cold metal of his armor hovering inches above her chest."





	Kisses Sweet As Apple Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Cool kids leave kudos and comments! It helps keep writers motivated. Also, holler at me if you see any mistakes. 
> 
> I didn't really go over this as thoroughly as I should have and it's been a while since I've written anything like this so forgive me if it's terrible. But come on, that Starkhaven accent is swoon-worthy. I'm not even sorry.

“What do you think you’re doing lass?” 

Emlyn froze, bent over the crate with her hand wrapped around the neck of an excellent apple wine. The supply tent was dark and she was out of her battle armor and in simple Dalish garb, leggings and a loose tunic, her feet bare against the warm red stone of Griffon Wing Keep. Her braid also hung over her shoulder, further obscuring her face and identity. She was no longer the Inquisitor, just a light-fingered elf and he didn’t recognize her. 

She recognized him though, his thick Starkhaven accent chasing shivers down her spine much like it had during their first meeting. Before she could act, a rough hand wrapped around her wrist, spinning her around and twisting the limb behind her back. He shoved her against the towering stack of crates, the cold metal of his armor hovering inches above her chest. 

“I said, what are you’re doing? These are the Inquisitors private stores.” She stared resolutely at his broad chest, a confused flush covering her cheeks and pointed ears. The desert was cool at night, but her skin burned where his calloused hand gripped her wrist. 

_Creators_ , one point of contact and she all but wanted to climb him. 

She hadn’t reacted to anyone this way in a long while, not even when she had been with the clan and since the Conclave things had been far too hectic for her to form any sort of attachment. But here, pressed between rough wooden boxes and the cool metal of his armor, she fought to control the awareness sliding through her veins, making her breath catch and her pulse race. It chased away her exhaustion, leaving her with a disconcerting mix of irritation, embarrassment, and arousal swirling in the pit of her stomach. Her reaction to his rough behavior agitated her, longing and desire warring with annoyance at his impertinence. She simultaneously wanted to press closer, to hook her leg over his hip and wanted to summon her magic to throw him backwards. 

“Come now lass, you’ve been caught. Might as well ‘fess up. It’ll make things easier for you.” She had somehow missed his other hand clasping her shoulder, but at his growled rebuke he shook her gently, demanding an answer. Stifling a growl of her own, Emlyn shoved aside her wayward thoughts and pulled herself as far away from his alluring heat as she could. Clenching her jaw, she schooled her features into a look of haughty disdain before she tossed her head back, barely missing catching his face as she did so. She took pleasure in the sudden narrowing of his eyes, his own frustration morphing to confusion, then chagrin as he realized who she was. Sputtering he released her and stepped back, nearly tripping over a chest in his haste. 

“Inquisitor! Pardon me, I thought you were-”

“Stealing, I’m aware.” She snapped, drawing herself up to her full height. Barefoot her chin was level with his shoulder, the perfect height to curl into his neck if he were to embrace her. The unruly thought made her blush renew itself, but she ignored it in favor of clearing her throat awkwardly. “At least you didn’t call me a knife ear.” 

“Never Inquisitor!” He looked horrified at the situation and by her clumsy attempt at a joke, so Emlyn took pity on him. 

“I was joking Knight Captain. Would you like to join me?” She held up the dark bottle and offered a small smile, expecting his polite refusal. Instead he agreed, looking as surprised as she felt when the words slipped past his lips. 

“I’d like that.” 

.

.

Rylen had been absently aware that the woman he held pressed against the crates was pretty, but that had been overshadowed by his annoyance at having to deal with this shit so late at night. He had been about to grasp her chin and force her to face him when she had thrown back her head and glared at him from eyes that flash blue and grey all at once. His skin had gone cold and the only thought that escaped past his shocked stupor was, _oh shit_.

The tent had been dark, hidden from the moon above them, but he felt like he should have recognized her sooner. His body had, even as he bent her arm back his muscles protested, awareness for her tingling along his skin, leaving him half hard and _very_ thankful for the protective layers of his armor. It was a troubling reaction, especially considering he had had a similar one when they had first met, her standing before him, tired and dirty and splatter in varghest guts. Even then he had thought was beautiful, young -surprisingly so- but undeniably beautiful. And a little scary, barking orders and leaving chaos and the faint scent of lemons in her wake. 

In the light of day, she seemed less approachable, closed off and fierce, but here after midnight in the moonlight she was soft and relaxed, hips swaying as she padded barefoot through the keep, looking like the young elf she was. Rylen hummed low in appreciation as she jogged up the few steps to her little tower room, ignoring or not hearing the noise, but he broke the sound off, reprimanding himself. 

_Andraste’s ass, you fool. She’s the Inquisitor!_

She was the Inquisitor and a mage and he was a Templar and a professional. Mostly, anyway. At least that was what he kept telling himself as he followed her, trying and failing to keep his eyes off her ass. But he was also a man and he couldn’t deny the tension that thrummed low between them, smoldering like a banked fire, just waiting for the right wind to burn them both down. 

When they reached her pathetic excuse for a room she closed the door firmly behind him and he caught the flash of her eyes as she glanced at him over her shoulder. They were warm now, bold and enticing, and as they drew him willingly into the shadowed room, once again he found all he could think was, _oh shit._

.

.

Emlyn could still feel the heat of his gaze on her back and she reveled in it, letting it feed the little swell of arousal that had taken up residence between her legs. Any lingering irritation she felt at being accosted had been replaced by pure feminine satisfaction at the fact that she felt like a woman again, flesh and blood and not some holy symbol for a religion she didn’t hold to, placed upon a pedestal for all to worship. Her toes dug into the tattered rag rug that covered part of the floor and she threw him another sharp glance as she moved towards her bed. His light blue eyes were dark and predatory as they tracked her progress around the room. She pretended not to notice, plumping up her pillows before sitting on the bed, immensely thankful there wasn’t room for a desk or chair in the cramped alcove she was residing it, there was just a tiny slipper tub in the corner and her bed pushed against the far wall. Settling herself carefully on the mattress she began to work the cork from the bottle. 

“I apologize for the lack of furnishings.” 

“I don’t think I’ve thought this through.” His blurted confession made her raise her eyes to him and she frowned, uncertainty crashing through her, chasing away the warmth his attention had created. The rejection stung, but she gathered every scrap of noble etiquette Josephine and Vivienne had managed to cram into her and straightened her spine. 

“I understand, I-I’m sorry. I thought-” She trailed off nervously, swallowing tightly against lump in her throat. “Creators, I’m sorry, it was stupid idea. Please don’t feel like you have to be here.” Her lips twisted wryly, thinking of all the people who wanted to be in her bed and she wanted the one shem who took his duty seriously. As he should, she reminded herself, he was Cullen’s second in command after all. “Just go and we’ll pretend like this never happened.” 

Effectively dismissing him she returned to her bottle of wine, absently wondering how bad of an idea it was to drink the entire thing tonight. She tossed the cork aside and tipped the bottle back, the tart fruity liquid soothing some of her hurt. Emlyn flinched in surprise when the mattress dipped beneath her and Rylen pulled the bottle from her loose grasp. He took a long drink before setting it on the chunk of firewood serving as a nightstand. She stared at him wordlessly, helplessly leaning into his hand when he brought it up to cradle her face, his thumbs tracing the intricate lines of her vallaslin. His lips hovered over hers, breath smelling like apples and mint as he murmured gruffly, 

“I like stupid.” 

.

.

He tried to kiss her, but a surprised guffaw erupted from her, follow by a series of slightly hysterical giggles, the laughter making her entire body shake. Pulling back Rylen grinned as she fell back against her pillows, clutching her stomach as she laughed uncontrollably, face scrunched and eyes watering at the effort of it. 

“That, _that_ is what you go with?” He knelt on her bed, watching in dry amusement as she tried to compose herself, pleased to notice that the bitter sorrow was gone from her eyes. It hadn’t been his plan exactly, but she looked good like this, sprawled across the bed, hair falling out of its loose braid, eyes bright and shining with delight. 

“Are you quite done? Your cackle is going to wake the whole keep.” He teased, setting about removing his armor, fingers automatically finding his buckles and letting metal fall free, carefully pulling it away until he was in his plain cotton shirt and pants, a subtle sniff reassuring him that he wasn’t too rank. Toeing off his boots and socks he stretched out alongside her, reaching for the bottle of wine with a smirk. 

“I might be Captain. And I do _not_ cackle.” Her tone was honeyed and flirtatious and _Maker_ those eyes, they ruined him, heated and amused, blue melding with grey as she stole the bottle from him again. Suddenly he needed to hear her say his name like he needed to breathe. He ached to see those full lips move around it, know her tongue slid over it as she spoke. His own voice was rougher than normal, his accent thick as he lay his hand possessively on her hip, palm hugging the bone that jutted out, fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, thumb stroking the curve of her stomach. 

“Call me Rylen, lass.” 

“Rylen.” It was a little breathy and her pupils went wide and glassy as she said it, gaze dropping to his own lips. It was all the invitation he needed and he did kiss her this time. She tasted like the apple wine and he groaned low as her tongue darted along his lips, teeth nipping and he let her tease him, let her toy and arch against him, rubbing her lithe body against him, let her think she was in control, but only for a moment. Then he pried the bottle from her hand and hastily set it aside, dimly aware of the crash as it toppled to the floor, too distracted by her lemony scent and the slide of his big hands up her ribcage, clasping her and pulling her under him as he rolled over top her, pushing her into the mattress. 

She met his fervor with her own, not melting against him like he expected her to, lips pressing hot against his throat, fingers rucking up his shirt to rake her nails across his back with a lusty moan. He wrestled for control, driving his knee between her legs and shoving against the apex of her thighs, his grin feral when she gasped and wriggled against him, riding his thigh as she clutched at his shoulders, shameless in her passion. 

He took advantage of her temporary submission, plundering the pale skin of her throat, sucking at the fluttering pulse there, tongue and teeth tracing the delicate lines of her tattoo until he found her mouth again. The dusky purple line that split her lower lip in half teased him and he bit it gently, earning him a sharp cry and a desperate buck of her hips. His hard-won concentration fractured when she rolled her sex across his erection, the urge to bury himself in her so strong that he grabbed her waist in a punish grip and wedged himself between her legs. Rylen let out a throaty murmur as her lean legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him even closer, her hands tangling in his hair as he leaned over her, mouthing her breasts through the rough fabric of her tunic, completely overwhelmed by the heat and urgency driving him forwards. 

.

.

She hadn’t been prepared for the heat. It was everywhere, fiery and wild and frantic, making her skin prickle and her chest heave, the insistent drag of her breasts against the hard plane of his chest drawing her nipples into achy peaks. She had _never_ felt like this before. It was like her body wasn’t her own, her hips meeting the determined shove of his, the ridge of his erection pressing deliciously against the center of her pleasure with each thrust. Her hands gripped the silky strands of his shaggy dark hair, holding his mouth to her chest, whimpering when his teeth grazed her nipples, the sensitive buds spiraling electricity and need to her core. 

All Emlyn could do was try to keep pace with Rylen, letting the raw, sinful desire course through her, leaving an exquisitely raw trail in its wake, branding her, changing her on a level she couldn’t comprehend. She arched against him, letting her hands slip from his hair to the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin on hers, yanking vigorously until he pulled back with an annoyed grunt. He ripped it over his head with a growl and she could only admire his chiseled form, peppered with scars and the dark tattoos on his arms for a second before he began prying her tunic up. They wrestled with garment, her head trapped in the body of it before he swore violently and it came free with the sound of rending cloth. 

“Rylen!” She admonished, his name turning to a moan as he immediately drew a nipple into his mouth, suckling the nub, his large hands plumping it into his mouth. He pulled back, licking it tenderly before blowing on it, the cool air making goosebumps break out across her skin. 

“I’m terribly sorry your Worship.” He teased, but she tensed at the title that slipped off his lips. It was a painful reminder of the pedestal she teetered on. 

“Call me Emlyn.” She echoed his request from earlier and she felt his scruff drag across her chest as he nodded, nosing her other breast before closing over that tip, giving it the same treatment as the other, successfully making her forget her tension. Momentarily satisfied she fell back against the bed, letting her hands wander over his body as he toyed with her breasts, each tug and nibble making her shiver in his arms. He trembled too, his body betraying him as she trailed her nails down his stomach, stopping just shy of his belt, before returning to his shoulders. It was a gentle lull in the primal passion that swept over them, slowing their headlong rush to a gradual build and she could feel all of it in the pulse between her legs. 

It was a wet ache, a hunger that left her feeling empty. She yearned for him, wanted him heavy and hot between her legs, thrusting into her, making both of them cry out in completion. Driven by her own longing Emlyn slid her hand into his pants, carding her shaky fingers through the coarse hair she found until she grazed his length. When she wrapped her hand around it he went rigid above her, a hoarse groan echoing in the small room. Encouraged she stroked him, her hips moving restlessly in time with her hand and her mouth seeking his, kissing up his neck, the heady scent of the desert and sweat and sun strongest there. 

“Emlyn lass.” He sighed, hips snapping forward to meet her hand as his mouth roughly took control of hers, slanting across it firmly, tongue delving past her lips, capturing every gasp and whimper she uttered. “Maker lass, just like that.” He groaned, rutting against her, leaving her feeling powerful and wanted and needy, oh so needy. His words, the rich accent colored with savage arousal made her shiver and clench, her body recklessly rising up to writhe against him, wordlessly begging him to fuck her. 

“Rylen.” She struggled to form the words, to pull herself from the erotic haze that surrounded them. “Rylen, I need you. Please, o-oh, please.” Her pleading made his hands drop from her breasts, long fingers attacking the soft fabric of her leggings. She whined over the loss of contact, his sudden departure leaving her flushed skin cold, but he was resolutely shucked his trousers and pulled hers down, exposing her to the soft shadows of the room. 

“ _Oh_ lass. _Emlyn_. Next time I’m going to spend all night tasting you. I want to feel you shatter on my tongue.” It was a sensual vow and she quivered, barely wondering at his promise of there being a next time. She was too distracted by his broad shoulders shoving her thighs apart, his deliciously calloused hands lifting her ass, pressing her slick heat to his mouth. She cried out sharply when his wicked tongue traced along her cleft before settling against her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her cry turned into a wild shriek as he licked her, feasting on her flesh, sucking until she thrashed against him, panting and frantic at the fierce intensity coiling in her limbs. It wound its way through her body, pressure pooling between her legs until it shattered, making her scream and sending brilliant, white-hot shards of lust to every corner of her soul. Distantly she was aware of Rylen pressing a hand to her mouth, his body shaking as he chuckled, the guttural rasp of his words in her ear. 

“Hush. You’ll bring the keep down on us.” Emlyn couldn’t bring herself to care as she lay limp and sated, her flesh hypersensitive and tender. She whimpered when he brought his hand between her legs, fingers avoiding her delicate bud, instead sliding along her sex, teasing and soothing in equal measure. “Easy Emlyn. I’ve got you.” She was surprised to feel her body respond after several long minutes, the heat returning with a vengeance, a sweet, sharp bite that clawed against her skin. “There you are. Good girl.” His praise made her tremble but the press of his head against her folds made her moan and cant her hips against his. They both gasped when he rocked into her, his slow steady thrusts warring against the ferocity she knew lay just beneath his skin, gradually sinking into her heat until he could go no further. 

She felt full, her inner walls fluttering against the stretch of his hot length buried inside of her. They both paused, Rylen taut and solid above her, his hips pinning her to the bed as she adjusted to him. Finally, she was unable to hold still any longer, her body demanding she move, that he move, insistent that she satisfy the heady ache in her core. The first tentative flex of her hips seemed to awaken the same urge in Rylen and he immediately took over, gripping her waist tightly as he began to move inside her. 

. 

. 

Rylen grappled at every tendril of control he had left, every muscle in his body tight and furious, fighting to slam into her, to mark her as _his_. Shoving that aside he slowly withdrew, clenching his jaw at the wet heat of her clinging to him, grunting when her nails dug into his back, calling him back to her. He answered her need with another steady thrust, determined to draw out their pleasure until she was a blissful, spent mess. He wasn’t a green lad, threatening to spill at the first touch of her intimate flesh against his, but damned if she didn’t make him feel like one. He wanted to make this last, for both of them, but selfishly for himself, because it would probably never happen again and he didn’t know how anyone else would ever compare to her. She fought against him though, rousing from her initial orgasm, arching against him and working her hips with his, driving their pace faster, begging him to move. 

“Faster Rylen, .” He was helpless to deny her and with a cry he began to move in earnest, his rough thrusts making her cling to him until she peaked again. The tight rippling over her core around him was enough to send him over the edge too, chasing the addictive searing heat that coursed down his spine. He lurched back with at the last second, a shout bursting past his lips as he came across her stomach, a flush already creeping up his neck at the sight of her. She was lax against the mussed bed, naked and warm, his spend rapidly cooling across the soft curve of her belly. 

“Maker,” He muttered, grabbing at his shirt and quickly wiping it off her. Tossing the shirt aside he hovered uncertainly between her knees, unsure what to do next. Prior to this he would have always left, but his heart thumped traitorously at the thought of leaving now. He wanted to wrap himself behind her and breath in the lemons on her hair, to wake up at dawn and bring her to completion with the keep stirring around them. Rylen was unaware of Emlyn watching him, but whatever she saw on his face made her smile shyly. The touch of her bare thigh on his made his eyes drop to her and he watched silently as she wriggled her way under the blanket, scooting to the far edge of the bed. 

“Stay?” He didn’t know he had been holding his breath, but it whooshed out loudly in the quiet room as he moved into the space behind her. It seemed foolish, considering how close they had been just moments before, but he laid down with several inches between them, carefully resting one hand awkwardly on the delectable bend of her hip. 

“Is this okay?” Emlyn just hummed and closed the distance between them, cradling his soft member against the roundness of her ass and dragging his arm even further over her, pressing his hand between her breasts. 

“Better.” She murmured sleepily, nuzzling into him before falling still. Rylen couldn’t help but bury his face into her midnight hair, the clean, citrusy smell soothing a rough jagged part of him he wasn’t even aware of. For a moment, holding her supple body against his he felt every one of his years, the thought making him stiffen against her. “What?” She grumbled, snuggling closer. 

“How old are you lass?” He felt her snort of laughter against his chest and she tilted her head to glance at him with one eye, an amused half smile on her lips. 

“How old do you think I am?” It was his to chuckle and he drug his mouth along the shell of her ear, teeth grazing the point, making her shiver as he teased, 

“I don’t think I want to answer that.” 

“I’m 21. Why?” He groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. 

“Andraste’s tits, I’m practically robbing the cradle. That’s 15 years’ lass!” She laughed at his expletive, patting his side in consolation. 

“Oh hush, you’ll bring the keep down on us.” Rylen growled at her teasing, squeezing her waist in warning before settling back beside her, still muttering under his breath about their age difference. He was unprepared for her twisting sharply in his arms, her brows drawn up in frustration, mouth turned down into a frown. 

“If this is going to be a problem it can end here. You can leave and this -whatever _this_ is- can stop, right here. There doesn’t have to be a next time.” For a moment he contemplated it, stepping back and letting her go, it was probably the smart thing to do. She was in the Inquisitor after all and what was he but a stonemason’s son and Templar 15 years her senior? Shifting he caught a whiff of lemons and his agitation melted away, apparently he really did like stupid. Huffing he laid back down, yanking her against him, pressing a cautious kiss to the back of her neck. 

“Will there be a next time?” She dropped her elbow into his stomach, causing him to grunt in surprise, then grin, settling back down next to her. “Good.” 


End file.
